


The Queen's Justice

by Delay_no_more



Series: Shameless tickle fics [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Canon Divergence, Dany learns a thing or two about her Hand, Execution (mentioned), F/M, Forced Nudity, Gen, Kink, M/M, Male suffering as plot device - hell yeah!, Multi, Non-Consensual Tickling, Objectification, Oh wait there is no plot never mind, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Humiliation, Public Punishment, Revenge, S7E3 stole my title, Shameless tickle fic, Sorry Not Sorry, Tickle torture, Westeros is confusing for Dany, canon-typical ableist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delay_no_more/pseuds/Delay_no_more
Summary: Tyrion is glad he didn't let Varys trick him into paying his father a visit in the Tower of the Hand right before fleeing King's Landing. Because *this* is much better. And his new queen seems to agree that revenge tastes the sweetest when it is served... in public. Time to sit back and watch the show.





	1. Tyrion, 300 AC

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry George!

Tyrion's eyes studied the small, round chamber, its six doors blocked with iron bars, the brazier fashioned after a dragon's head. Then he noticed the ladder before him. “This will lead me to the Tower of the Hand,” he suddenly knew.

Varys nodded. “Yes, but to go would be folly, my lord. It is far, and we must make haste. You would have to climb two hundred and thirty rungs before you would take the tunnel to the left-”

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed. “To climb up there would be folly, indeed. I should be on my way.” He wanted to turn around and head towards the underground cave and the boat that would take him out of King's Landing, but the eunuch wouldn't move.

“From there, you'd have to walk another sixty feet at least,” Varys continued instead, “until you would reach the third door that would lead you to your father's bedchamber. You'd have to keep your hands on the walls to feel for it or you might miss it.”

“That won't be a concern because I won't be going up there,” Tyrion said.

“Good,” Varys agreed. “Because you would need to take care not to step into the hearth on the other side of the door and burn yourself on the coals, or the guards posted at Lord Tywin's doors might hear you. There's two of them at least at all times-”

Tyrion looked at him, half amused half annoyed. “Far be it from me to accuse you of harboring ulterior motives, but that almost sounds as if you _wanted_ me to pay my lord father a visit and were giving me detailed instructions.”

“Oh no, my lord!” Varys protested. “I would never suggest such a thing. If you were to go though, you would need to-” He stopped himself mid-sentence and sighed. “You won't go, will you?”

“No,” Tyrion responded. “Sorry to disappoint, but I have a ship to catch.”

 


	2. Daenerys, 302 AC

Daenerys Targaryen, the First of her Name, had surrounded herself with her most trusted confidantes. The high lords and ladies of the realm were seated on the lower levels of the viewing stand: House Martell, House Tyrell, House Redwyne, House Rowan and a notable number of houses whose names she simply could not get herself to remember. Most of her Unsullied and Dothraki army were present as well. Dany had allowed the remaining ranks to be filled with commoners, as Tyrion had recommended. A tiny bit of justice for the Sack after all those years, as he had called it.

Two of her Unsullied brought the Usurper's dog in, naked as his name day. He had fought back when they undressed him; it had taken four of her best soldiers to pin him down. Daenerys had thought they might have to drag him before her now, but he walked in defiance, head held high.

He had been ready to bend the knee as soon as he realized he could not defeat her and her dragons, sending her the boy king's head - or some other head he had felt may pass for Tommen's - as a token of his sincerity and loyalty to her cause. Real or not, she had sent the head right back. “You have betrayed not one but two kings you have served,” the accompanying note read. “As your future Queen, I am sure you will forgive me if this makes me wary of your service.” She had intended to send much harsher words, but Tyrion had counseled ambiguity.

She had personally declined his request to ransom himself with Lannister gold. “I will not see you buy your life with your son's coin, traitor!” She had told him sharply. _No gold in the world can buy you your way out of facing justice_.

Her Unsullied stopped in front of a contraption that was half stocks half gallows. _No doubt he believes he is to be executed_ , Dany realized. _As if I would let a traitor get away so easily._ “Kneel for your Queen!” She commanded. When he refused, her Unsullied pushed him down. They locked his ankles in the stocks and fixed his calves in place with straps, forcing him to stay on his knees before tying his hands together, securing them on a hook above his head, and pulling him up as far as his anatomy would permit.

Dany had heard a few isolated cheers when he was shoved down on his knees. They were gradually building in volume and intensity as he was yanked up and fixed in place. The commotion did not escape him. His face turned pale when it finally seemed to sink in how many eyes were on him, highborn and baseborn alike, all seemingly delighted to see him humiliated. Each chortle, each snicker seemed to sting like a slap in his face. He closed his eyes.

Daenerys rose and lifted her hand, beckoning for silence. “Traitor! Your crimes are too many to count!” She announced from her dais once the crowd had quieted down. “If I were to read them all, we would still be here a fortnight from now. You've waged war by deceptive means. You murdered my sister by marriage and her children. You sacked this city, causing the rapes and deaths of thousands upon thousands of innocents. You committed treason of the worst kind against your King, my father. You slew your own kin, the false king. For all this, I will have your head one day, make no mistake about that. But for today, I shall content myself with taking your pride and your dignity.”

Defiance had returned to his face. He looked at her with cold eyes. _He expects to be flogged, most like_ , Dany thought with a smile. _And he thinks he can pull through it. He has no idea_.

The Martells sat right below her. Prince Doran turned around to face her, angry. “I understood he was to burn, Your Grace,” he told Daenerys. Somehow, she still had trouble getting used to her new title. It always reminded her of the Graces of Mereen. Oberyn put a hand on his brother's shoulder, a smirk on his face. He knew his new queen well enough to know exactly what was to come. “Trust me, brother, you will see him burn in due course. This will be better.” Doran did not seem convinced, but he turned back around.

Dany raised her hand. Missandei stepped forward, looking impassive as ever. This was simply another task she did for her Queen, yet for all her indifference, the girl was effective. Daenerys had pondered giving the lion to the Sandsnakes, but her little scribe was the better option.

The girl carried a small woolen bag of tools, though Daenerys knew she could make prisoners scream with laughter using nothing but her fingertips. She put her bag down and cocked her head, studying the bound man in front of her intently before circling him to get the full picture, finally stopping right behind him.

A murmur ran through the crowd as people were trying to figure out what was going on. “No doubt they think you mad, Your Grace,” Tyrion said. He was sitting next to her, sipping wine from his cup, looking mighty pleased with himself. “This was _your_ idea!” Dany replied, irritated. The halfman shrugged, emptying his cup and reaching for a refill in one smooth motion of his hand. “You asked me what the most effective punishment for my lord father would be, not what would be the most beneficial to your reputation. I stand by my suggestion.” He smirked.

“You're enjoying this!” Dany said, almost shocked. The halfman looked at her as if she was indeed mad. “Of course I do!” He said. “I've dreamed of this moment my entire life. Well, I've dreamed of watching him burn, rather, but our good Prince Oberyn is right, this _is_ much better.”

Ser Barristan was looking to the side, away from her. He held no love for Tywin Lannister, she knew, but he seemed to find the spectacle distasteful. The only reason he was present at all was to fulfill his duty as Lord Commander of the Queensguard. _He for one thinks me mad_ , Dany thought. _He believes I am turning into my father_. He was _wrong_.

They were interrupted by a startled shriek, quickly suppressed. Missandei had reached around the traitor's waist and dug her fingers into his midriff. He was tugging at the rope that held his arms in place, struggling to calm himself. Even from above, she could see the panic on his face. Whatever he had thought would happen, he clearly had not prepared for this. Most of the lords and ladies hadn't seen this coming, either. Dany heard some of them gasp in surprise, then soft whispers and suppressed snickers that grew louder as Missandei continued.

His eyes followed in horror as she moved her hands over his well-stretched body, watching as her fingers danced over the length of his side, up and down, up and down. He tried to fight back the tense giggles welling up inside of him, but it did not take long until he couldn't take it anymore. He threw back his head, erupting into full-blown laughter. _This is the magic of Missandei. Nobody else can break them so quickly_ , Dany thought, though she suspected that the intense stress caused by being put on public display had probably played a part as well.

In almost no time, he had lost all control, his laughter turned to panicked shrieks. Dany watched, mesmerized, as he twisted his hands in his bonds in a frenzied attempt to free his arms. She felt a familiar throb between her legs. Almost reflexively, she reached down to touch herself but then stopped. If there was one thing she had learned about Westeros it was that its people had a surprisingly low acceptance of female sexuality. A part of her wanted to shock them, but the more rational side in her knew that any change she would bring about would have to be gradual.

She rose to her feet and slowly descended the stairs, making her way towards Missandei and her prisoner, stopping right in front of him. She beckoned her little scribe to stop before placing a finger under his chin, raising his head. He met her gaze. “Your Grace!” Was all he could manage. He was teary-eyed, panic mixed with disbelief that any of this was actually happening. _Just how the people of this city must have felt when they thought you had come to save them only to see you betray them_ , Dany thought with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was _justice_.

She waved her hand, and her guards quickly brought her a chair. “I was told you like to watch from up close when you see a crime punished,” she told him. “We have that in common.” She seated herself right in front of him. “Make him sing me a song,” she told Missandei just as he was about to respond. The girl obliged, so all that came out of his mouth were shrieks of laughter.

Dany watched in fascination. He was convulsing, twisting and arching his back as far as his restraints would permit, flexing his fingers in the air. Sweeter yet, he was plainly mortified at how his body betrayed him, how a diminutive woman such as Missandei could make him lose all control of himself. She would have to ask her little scribe to teach her how to produce such a powerful response with so little effort.

He was about to break, she knew from experience. Eventually, they all swallowed their pride and begged her to put an end to their torment, no matter how much it embarrassed them. She got up from her chair and moved closer, stopping right in front of him. “Stop! If...if... it... pl-please... Your... Gr-Grace!” He sputtered in between violent fits of laughter. He was unable to look her in the eye this time; too great was the shame of being forced to plead with her.  _So it begins_ , she thought. “It does _not_ please me,” she told him angrily. “The only thing that pleases me right now is to see you punished for the crimes you committed.” She turned around.

“Your father was mad! I had no choice!” He cried, his voice shrill, terrified. “I've served... the realm... please! No more!” _Under Missandei's skilled hands, he is becoming rather talkative_ , she noted with satisfaction. Nothing was left at the man who had treated her so contemptuously when she had imprisoned him. “You've served House Lannister at best and yourself at worst.”

“ _You_ _are mad!_ This is... no way... to treat... a lord!” _So if begging won't work, you're going to insult me now?_ She thought. But they were just empty words spoken by a broken man who had lost all his power. They barely even touched her, she noted with surprise. Truth be told, if it were up to her, his lordship would have passed to Tyrion a long time ago, but she did not know if the laws and customs of Westeros allowed to strip a lord of his title while he was still alive. Some of her advisers counseled one way and some the other. In the end, she was none the wiser.

He was back to pleading with her soon enough, though he barely had the breath for it. His whole body was quivering.  _He knows he's done for. Even if I let him live, nobody will ever look at him the same way again._ For a moment, she thought about ending his torture, but no! This was a man who knew no mercy, so he would receive none. She intended to make him beg for dear life if only to ignore his pleas. “Don't stop,” she told Missandei before returning to her seat up on the viewing stand.

She could hear Oberyn snicker as she passed him. He made no effort to hide how much he enjoyed the public humiliation of the man he held responsible for the death of his sister. “Our dear friend Tywin strung up in his name day suit before half the realm shrieking for mercy, all over a few light strokes. If I die today, I'll die a happy man.” If Doran took pleasure in the spectacle he did not show it. “I want to hear him confess,” he said darkly, just loud enough for her to hear. “A wonderful idea,” Tyrion chimed in. “Though I'm afraid we might all miss dinner if we walk down this path.”

Dinner or not, this was an opportunity for her to watch and learn about her new subjects. Dany raised her hand. Gradually the crowd quieted down. Missandei slowed down her pace just enough for the Usurper's dog to be able to listen to his Queen while still leaving him in a state of discomfort. “Traitor!” Daenerys called. “You stand accused by Doran of House Martell of ordering the rape and murder of his sister, Elia of House Martell. Do you confess?”

Suddenly, he seemed half his old self again. He glared at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “When your Queen speaks to you, you will respond!” Missandei sounded uncharacteristically harsh. She reached down with one hand, scraping the soles of his feet with her fingernails, while stroking his stretched belly with the other. He squealed in distress, trying to yank his legs free. “No... Your Grace!... I... ordered... no such thing!” Dany sighed. “You stand accused by Doran of House Martell of ordering the rape and murder of his sister. Do you confess?” She repeated, forcing herself not to lose patience.

It always took a few attempts, but in the end, he confessed to anything and everything they lay at his feet. Dany had enough experience with the art of sharp questioning to know such confessions held little value. But she was more interested in the accusations themselves than his admissions of guilt. Even she was shocked by the sheer mass of them. _If only half of them are true, I am dealing with a monster_. He did not look a monster now though.

“If I may, Your Grace” Tyrion said. “I have an idea.” She nodded. Her Hand rose. “My lords, my ladies!” He cried. “For the humble price of one silver stag, you may join our Queen in teaching my dear lord father his place. Unless you are a Lannister, in which case I must relegate you to the end of the line and charge you a dragon.” His face twisted into a lopsided smile. “Oh bother, I am the only remaining member of House Lannister who is not rotting in a dungeon or stuck in the stocks.” He took out a coin of gold from his pocket, tossing it in the air with one hand and catching it with the other. “Well. I suppose I shall go last.”

There was abject terror on the traitor's face, but what concerned her more was the look in her Hand's eyes: bitterness and hatred mixed with that odd sense of deep satisfaction that only the fulfillment of a long-held need for vengeance could deliver. _Justice for the Sack, you said_ , she mused. _Justice for yourself, more like._ She sighed. She knew so little of the people that she ruled. _And much less of those who rule with me._ If she was to last, she would need to change that.

 

 


End file.
